


Sending You Forget-Me-Nots

by GrimHeaperr



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood, Fast Pace, Guns, Men In Black AU, Minor Character Death, Twitter Prompt, Violence, also the plot is a hot mess bc I got excited about the prompt, shifting tenses bc i continue to not take writing seriously even though I should, so minor they don't have names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 01:03:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17335721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimHeaperr/pseuds/GrimHeaperr
Summary: Shiro joins the Men In Black after an alien crashes through his house. His new partner takes a while to warm up to him.(Prompt from @YaskiraM on twitter.)





	Sending You Forget-Me-Nots

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the prompt, @YasKiraM! Sorry it's so late.
> 
>  
> 
> READ THE TAGS cause I got kinda grossed out writing this.  
> No beta. All mistakes are my own.

Shiro winced as the scanner burned his fingertips, erasing the last of who he once was. When he removes his hand from the pad, Agent A hums thoughtfully, eyeing his prosthetic arm.

“We may have to issue you a new arm,” she said more to herself. Shiro raised an eyebrow. The prosthetic cost him months of physical therapy and thousands in tax dollars. He just got used to the fibers in the arm thrumming into his nerves after having it for five years.

“That won’t be necessary, Agent A.” 

“It is not a request, Agent S.” She responds sharply. Her icy blue eyes narrowed, daring him to challenge her, but he kept his mouth shut. She turned away from him and shouted something that sounded like a name.

A large, fluorescent pulsing spider scrambled over, ten legs threaded and tripping through the crowd that bustled in the Men in Black headquarters. Shiro took a step back as the spider peered at him, five eyes reflecting the silent horror in his own.

Agent A said something more in a language that sounded like a mix of coughs and gurgles. A leg snapped up before it melted into a long, blue-to-pink gradient tentacle. It shot forward and wrapped around Shiro’s waist. A scream bubbled in that back of Shiro’s throat.

“He’s taking you to get a new arm, Agent S.” Agent A said calmly as she tied her thick silver hair into a high bun. “Please report to my office. We have a job for you.”

With that, Shiro was carried across the main room of the headquarters, most aliens not looking at him while other human-passing agents looked on with curiosity. Shiro swallowed his nausea that came with moving so fast, but before the bile could turn to vomit, the spider stopped and roughly tossed him on an observation table.

Shiro’s head spun as a weird purple mist hissed into the room. His vision blurred as he saw a group crowd a few feet away from the table and then... nothing.

 

 

Agent S knocked on the metal frame of Agent A’s door. She looked up, briefly, from a wide computer screen, pressed a button on her office phone and beckoned Agent S in.

“How’s the new arm?” She asked conversationally, although her attention was still on the screen in front of her.

“Good.” It was, relatively. The spider — Dr. Olshtgi — attached the arm to him with minimal pain and minimal drugs. It fed and blended seamlessly into Shiro’s upper arm, more so than the military’s own tech. According to Dr. Smythe, Dr. Olshtgi’s assistant and translator, his new arm has several different modes for his convenience: Attack, Civilian, and a third Shiro wishes he could neuralyze from his memory. It also came with a few buttons that would help him navigate, should he need it, and an emergency button to help locate if should he be in danger.

Shiro would have to get used to the balanced weight of his arm, and the fact that Civilian mode looked like his own flesh. The sight was as disturbing as much as it was missed.

Agent A hummed her approval as footsteps echoed into the room. They stopped promptly a few feet away from Shiro. Before Shiro could look at the newcomer, Agent A demanded his attention.

“Starting today, the two of you will be investigating the import of unregistered alien arms into the United States. We have intelligence from the International branch referring to a few places in the city that may help you with your search.

Find a man named Kolivan. He’s a Galra in disguise and has a network of aliens working for him in the hunt for these arms.”

“Do we know where the guns are coming from?” The agent beside Shiro asked, his voice rough and low. It caused Shiro’s ears to ring.

“They seem to be manufactured on a remote planet a few galaxies away: Daibazaal.” The agent didn’t say anything else. “The Galra are far more advanced with technology than the human race, or any race we have encountered since 1961. It is imperative you find where the imports are being stored, who’s importing them, and where they’re being manufactured. Another team has been dispatched to find who has been buying them. The information we have thus far will be available to you in a few doboshes.”

_Doboshes?_

“Dismissed.” 

The other agent stormed away, and Shiro was left gaping. He looked to Agent A for instruction and she waved her hand, dismissing him.

Shiro caught up to the agent, already on his way to the company garage. Shiro felt his new phone vibrate in his pocket but he ignored it.

“Hey!” He starts, friendly and charismatic. He could see the agent turn to him, their eyes shifting slightly beneath the black of his sunglasses. “I’m Shiro. It’s nice to meet you.” Shiro offered his hand — his new, alien, familiar prosthetic — but the agent didn’t reach for it. Shiro turned the friendly offer into a motion to slick back his hair.

The agent kept marching on.

Shiro trailed behind him, unsure about the mission and the whole ordeal.

He knew nothing about the Galra until exactly ten hours ago when he was caught up in a police chase that ended up with a car through his front window, the burning gore of a purple alien body causing a foul stench to stain his couch, carpet, and shoes. Agent A came soon after, inquiring about the dead driver, flashing a light at the police officers —  _the neuralyzer_  — and taking Shiro into custody for questioning and a proposition.

He wasn’t expecting to be partnered with someone who didn’t talk to him. Or acquire a new arm. Or, for that matter, a phone that presented information in the form of a light blue hologram. 

The aliens, well, he thought it was absurd to think that earth was the only planet with life.

The company car was sleek, all black, and unmarked. The center console lit up with a red pulsing light, illuminating dials, buttons, cup holders, and a sunroof. Shiro slid into the passenger seat while his partner pushed a button, causing the car to roar to life.

Shiro pulled out his issued phone from his pocket, unlocking the touch screen and bringing up the information. The information shimmered into a holographic screen above the phone. Shiro read aloud the details of each firearm, wincing at one that crushed bone, another that metaled metal, and a particular handgun that warped a person’s inside. Shiro read the coordinates to Mamora’s Garage and his partner huffed but didn’t bring up that adr’s GPS to get there. The two men drove in tense silence.

Shiro sighed. The other agent gripped the steering wheel.

Shiro braced himself as the agent drifted down the busy streets of New York. They took an old bridge over a polluted river and the agent slowed the car to a crawl. Behind the tinted windows was a neighborhood where houses had overgrown yards and boarded windows. A few kids on bikes watched them drive past with confused looks. Shiro snapped his attention to the front at the sound of the car’s blinker.

 _Mamora’s Garage_  was a series of tin-roof buildings with various types of cars parked underneath makeshift awnings or abandoned on the grassier side of the lot. A few men worked on a beat up truck, a couple on a muscle car. One of the men working on the truck eyed them suspiciously as Keith pulled into the gravel, white dust kicking up. The man that eyed them threw a grease towel at one of the others and stormed toward them.

His partner got out without a word. Shiro followed suit.

Their shoes crunched the gravel. Shiro felt his arm thrum with energy as his partner approached the man. The clouds covered the sun and Shiro squinted at the man. He was taller, bulkier with light purple skin. The cloud passed, and the sunlight revealed the human body; stout, muscular, and pale.

Shiro stayed a few paces behind Keith as he talked in rushes Russian with the man, the two of them glancing his way every so often. The conversation ended with a grunt and a nod in his direction. Hesitantly, Shiro joined his partner.

“Agent S, this is Kolivan, our contact for the mission.” His partner said, tone cold and professional.

 _The Galra._  Shiro stuck his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you, Kolivan.” Kolivan balked but accepted the handshake. His eyes narrowed after he grabbed Shiro’s right hand.

Shiro was yanked forward. In an instant, his right arm was pinned to his back and he was forced to his knees. His blood pulsed in his ears as weapons  _whirred_  around him. He could feel his heartbeat as the tension rose, sharp pebbles digging into the fabric of his slacks.

His partner had a gun aimed at Kolivan. Around him, the other men at the garage circled them, a few with guns pointed at Shiro and the others with their guns trained on his partner.

A rough language started to be spoken, a few syllables oddly enunciated while other words sounded slurred. Shiro’s ears rang at the sound. Shiro turned his head slightly toward his partner, watching as sweat beaded down his temples and mouth moving faster than Shiro thought humanly possible.

“Your arm.”

He didn’t know where the voice came from, but Shiro squeezed his hand into a fist, ring finger digging into his palm to deactivate the arm’s Civilian Mode. Without it, the prosthetic shimmered into its steel white color. Light blue energy lines pulsed rapidity around the arm, tracing panels and buttons Shiro has yet to learn about it.

Someone behind him whistled, long and low. Shiro’s humility manifested high onto his cheeks. His knees ached. After a few more words were exchanged, Kolivan released his hold.

Shiro huffed out a sigh of relief and stood back up, wiping away the gravel from his knees but the dust-stained his black slacks. He pulled the edge of his suit jacket and cleared his throat. He looked at his partner whose sleek black gun was lowered.

His partner raised an eyebrow at him. The Galra looked at him tersely, Kolivan specifically.

“I lost my arm during a car accident. I had a civilian prosthetic but Agent A saw it fit to outfit me a new one. We’re here for information, not a fight.” Shiro explained to the group, voice strained. Around him, the Galrans murmured amongst themselves. His partner said something to Kolivan.

“Very well,” Kolivan said. “Follow me.” The man turned on his heel and the men dispersed. His partner turned to follow Kolivan and Shiro had to jog to keep up.

Shiro kept his eyes on his partner as Kolivan escorted them through the garage. So far, his partner is a man of few words but seems to know the Galran language well enough to hold conversations fluently (or, what Shiro thinks is fluent). He drives fast but smooth. His eyes are hidden by shades, even in the cellar Kolivan ushered them down. That’s all he knows, and it doesn’t sit right with him. Shiro’s friendly by nature and his training in the Air Force taught him to not question authority figures, but he finds himself questioning everything in his new position. 

Kolivan guided them to a magenta colored room. There were two Galra in the middle of the room, gesturing to the hologram that displayed numbers in front of them. Shiro watched as the numbers changed into a gun. The taller of the two reached up and touched the barrel. It sprung apart, revealing its insides and schematics.

“My men have been receiving word from Daibazaal that the guns are being sent by one of the Empire’s apologists.”

“Apologist?” Shiro repeated. The men in the room ignored him. Shiro looked to his partner, and in the dim lighting of the room, Shiro watched him mouth  _Later._  Shiro pursed his lips. Okay then.

A new voice broke in, accent thick and hard to understand. “The guns are meant to find aliens and turn them into Empire fodder. A few different species have already fallen to the guns, namely the Balmerans.” The man that spoke was the shorter one — eyes an empty yellow like the man next to him but with hair that formed small horns. He swiped his hand over the gun, causing it to claim a corner while another window popped up. It was a roster of “Balmerans.” From what Shiro could see, they were a race of rock people. Beside them were either a red X, blue check, or white question mark. Shiro walked up to the console, ignoring the four sets of eyes on him. Shiro gestured toward the screen. The man who talked shrugged.

Shiro used his flesh hand to scroll through the list, glancing at alien and human faces alike, memorizing foreign letters with alien faces. The names and information were written in a language he didn’t know, but if the aliens that were hunted and... sacrificed? Brainwashed? To help an empire that... did what? Shiro stepped away from the screen with a frown.

There’s so much he doesn’t know.

Shiro stood silently as the Galrans and his partner talked around him. From what he understood, the Balmerans were the key to planets with a source of power the Empire could exploit. A few planets have already died from being taken over, and the Balmerans on the list were aliens who knew locations of said planets: the Balmeras. 

“Ulaz has managed to compile a map of where the Balmerans are located, and there seems to be a correlation.”

“Yes,” ‘Ulaz’ said, voice deep with a hint of an accent. He was the taller one of the two. Ulaz pinched the screen with sharp claws and spun the console, the violet interface turning red. A map formed in front of them. Shiro recognized the streets around New York, and the plots indicated created a large, wide “X” across the maps.

Shiro frowned, scrutinizing the odd pattern before a realization dawned on him.

“Ley lines.” Shiro and his partner said at the same time. They looked at each other, momentarily shocked. His partner was the first one to break the surprise.

“They’re ley lines.” His partner stated. “Places on this earth were there seems to be a large electromagnetic flux. The Balmarans are probably attracted to places along the lines due to their affinity with power sources.” He hypothesizes. “Are there any coordinates that converge on —“ He walked up to the map and dragged a slim finger across the dots, connecting them with a thin red line — “on these lines?”

Not Ulaz looked at Ulaz. Shiro watched as they blinked at each other. Not Ulaz cracked his fingers before placing his hands in front of him. A hologram keyboard appeared, and he typed away. Shiro watched as the map zoomed in, out, rotated, and spun. When Not Ulaz was done, there were four new dots on the map, two of which were near the heart of New York while the other two were closer to Vermont and Pennsylvania respectively.

“Can you upload your information onto this, Thace?” Shiro watched as his partner brandished a red USB stick.

Thace nodded and inserted it into the keyboard. The metal end of the USB disappeared into thin air. Shiro gawked as a violet bar popped up along with a percentage.

“If there are any Balmerans at the locations, we’ll warn them.” His partner said. Ulaz, Thace, and Kolivan nodded but Shiro didn’t miss the way Kolivan’s eyes slipped to him briefly. When Thace was finished, he handed his partner the USB. He thanked him. Shiro did the same, and Thace smiled at him in amusement.

“You’re welcome,” he said with humor.

“You can see yourselves out.” Kolivan said harshly. Shiro saw his partner’s eyebrows raise — was that an eye roll? — and he gestured for Shiro to follow him out.

Outside, the blue sky was replaced by a deep navy. Fluorescent lights illuminated parts of the garage on their way out. His partner pulled out of the garage and when they reached the freeway, he finally spoke:

“You hungry?”

Shiro was about to say no, but his stomach growled audibly. Shiro coughed, embarrassed. When he looked to his partner, he swore he saw a slight upward tilt on his lips.

“Guess that answers that.” His partner drove for thirty minutes before exiting, coming into a neighborhood Shiro vaguely recognized. A few bars were indicated by neon signs and at the end of a dead-end street were three foods trucks. Their names were written in Hangul with various mascots corresponding to each truck: a dancing ice cream cone, a sitting chicken, and a jumping fish.

His partner parked just before the street ended. Shiro followed him hesitantly. He watched as his partner shrugged off his suit jacket and slung it over his shoulder, revealing that his button up was short sleeved and untucked. His arms were toned and in the street light, Shiro could make out thick scars across his arms. A heavy black watch sat on Agent Z’s left wrist.

They walked up to the food truck with the sitting chicken. An old bald man came to the window, his head barely peering over the edge on the metal counter. He smiled when he saw his partner and exclaimed something in Korean that made his partner laugh, rough and raspy.

Shiro felt his stomach flip.  _Cute laugh._

They talked briefly and Shiro decided that he needs to figure out what makes his partner smile.

The man left them to wait at the window as smoke began to fill the truck. It reached Shiro’s nostrils, and his stomached growled louder. The smell of fried chicken made Shiro’s mouth water.

Minutes later, the old man returned with three servings of chicken skewers, three in each small serving tray. Agent Z reached for his wallet just as Shiro did, causing the man to laugh. He waved them away and his partner shrugged. He handed Shiro a tray as he grabbed the other two.

They ate their skewers in silence, the third one sitting between them as a buffer.

Shiro had a question about the mission on the tip of his tongue just as his partner started talking.

“Name’s Agent Z.” He said, mouth filled with fried chicken. He swallowed. “For the record, we’re only supposed to use our assigned names, Agent S.”

Shiro blushed in embarrassment. “Right.” He stuck his right arm out, the steel white gleaming in the hazy streetlights, ”Nice to meet you, Agent Z.”

Agent Z nodded and went back to eating. He finished his third skewer before he talked again.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was... taking care of something before Agent A called me into her office.” Shiro figures there’s more to that, but he doesn’t pry. His partner is finally talking to him.

“It’s alright. I just kinda figured you were the lone wolf type.” Agent Z looked at him flatly. Shiro huffed out a chuckle. “You didn’t talk until we got to the garage. I thought you were going to ignore me the whole day.” He kinda did that anyway, but Shiro doesn’t point that out.

Agent Z looks away from him, pink ghosting the tip of his ears. “Sorry,” he says quietly. He turns back to Shiro. Agent Z reached for a fourth skewer as Shiro tore into his third. “I just...” he drifts before he shakes his head. “Anyway. Do you have any questions about today?”

Shiro nervously looks toward the food trucks. A young girl is sleeping on a chair behind the counter of the ice cream truck, the old man is out of sight, and the fish truck has its lights off. 

“Don’t worry about them. They all only speak Korean.” 

Shiro nodded. Instead of asking about the mission, he asks about Agent Z. “How many languages do you know?”

Keith is taken aback but snaps back quickly. “I know a handful. Galra, Korean, and English are the only ones I’m fluent in.”

“Really?” He said. 

Agent Z nods, his sunglasses moving. Shiro catches a flash of something purple before his partner returns them to their spot.

_What was that?_

“I only know English and Japanese.”

“Japanese?” Shiro nods.

“I lived in Japan with my parents until the died, then I moved to be with my grandparents here. It took me a while to grasp English, but I had help with that.” ‘Help’ was hours and hours of drills on the weekends between loads of homework and a part-time job, but Shiro doesn’t mention that.

“When did you learn Galra?”

Agent Z deflects the question. “The Galra language is older than the earth itself, but if you’re good at memorization, it’s pretty easy to learn. Their alphabet has about 15 letters, but once you can differentiate them, it’s pretty easy to read. Their words are mostly homographs. I could probably teach you if you stick around.”

“Stick around?”

His partner shrugged. “So, no questions about today?”

Shiro reels and lets his question be ignored. “Who exactly are we looking for?”

“An Empire Apologist.” It’s Shiro’s turn to give Agent Z a flat look. His partner mutters something about  _newbies_  under his breath. “Before observable human history, the universe was ruled by a single alien race: the Galra. They dominated worlds and destroyed planets who wouldn’t bend to their will. That lead to five devastating wars, each one diminishing their people and their original home planet; Daibazaal is the Galra’s second home planet. No one knows the name of the real planet. Anyone who knew is long dead.

The wars devastated the Galra’s number and reign. A rebel group emerged from the ruins, as well as loyalists. The rebels went off planet, a few of them here on earth.”  _Kolivan,_  a voice in Shiro’s head whispers, “and others scattered throughout galaxies. Apologists are the new loyalists; they want to reclaim the Empire and rule the galaxy again, but they don’t have the power to do so.”

“The Balmeras.” Shiro said as Agent Z bit into the fifth skewer. Shiro lets the rest of his food get cold to listen to Agent Z talk.

“Exactly. If they get enough Balmeras, they have enough power to mass produce weapons, like the one Thace and Ulaz had on their screen.”  _The ones that control people. The ones that can kill and maim._  “Kolivan thinks they’re trying to take earth next due to the alien population here as well as the number of humans. Agent A wants us to... take care of the people involved.” 

Shiro has an ugly memory manifest; one covered in blood and guilt. He swallows the bile as it comes up. It burns under the taste of the fried chicken. He breathes in calmed spurts as Agent Z finishes off the last of the skewers and gets up, collecting his trash and wiping grease onto his black pants. 

Shiro rolls his shoulders. He stands up, fixing his suit jacket and grimacing at the white stains from the gravel on his knees.

Agent Z drives Shiro home with quiet conversations. Shiro bids farewell at the apartment Agent A set up for him after his home was destroyed. He showered, brushed his teeth, and messed with his arm until his shoulder turned numb from all the prodding. Shiro fell asleep and dreamt of worlds he doesn’t remember in the morning.

 

* * *

 

Shiro finds himself riding with Agent Z just after sunrise. His partner yawns into the back of his hand as he drives, but he refuses to let Shiro drive when he asks. He dismissed him with, “Do you even know what these cars can do?” Shiro lets him drive and makes a note to read the car’s manual later.

The first dot on the ley line leads them to an abandoned farm two hours from the Vermont border. His partner goes in first, gun at the ready. After a few tense minutes, he calls, “All clear.” There are old blood stains on the walls and family portraits broken in the hallway. Dust catches in beams of light through holes in the roof and after an hour of rummaging, declare there’s nothing there.

The second dot is a Starbucks, but the owner and manager aren’t in so they leave a special card that aliens can detect and leave. The third dot is a ceramic shop run by an old woman and her family. Agent Z and Shiro question everyone and his partner determines that they’re all human, even the kid that chews on the clay. They send Agent A their information with a request with a special team to keep an eye on them. Their fourth location brings them to a head.

 _Rockin’ Rolls_  is nestled between a subway entrance and an old Catholic church. The three-story townhome is actually a storefront on the first floor, the upstairs being the living quarters. The store is nicely decorated with river rocks and various gemstones. A big woman with a messy bun pushes her way through restaurant doors, balancing baskets of freshly baked bread on her hips. A bigger dark-skinned man follows behind her with a tray of doughnuts dusted with powdered sugar. Agent Z gestures to the door and Shiro turns the  _Yes, We’re Open!_  sign to  _Sorry, We’re Closed._

The couple greets Agent Z as he walks to the counter.

“Are you Shay Garrett?” He asks, voice clinical. 

The man eyes Shiro suspiciously as he joins his partner. Keith flashes his I.D. and badge to them. Shiro does the same. The man tenses as the woman calmly places the bread baskets on the counter. 

“I was wondering when you would be coming,” Shay says. She comes around the counter, revealing a yellow dress with white polka dots and a red plaid apron. Her stomach is noticeable and the moss green slippers that cover her feet lead Shiro to conclude she’s pregnant. “Hunk,” she says to her husband, “Can you get these men some water?” Hunk looks like he is about to protest, but he turns and goes back into the kitchen, taking the doughnuts with him.

Shay sits at a table near the registers. Agent Z and Shiro take the seats across from her.

“Is this about the disappearances?”

_Disappearances?_

“Yes.” Agent Z answers curtly. “We have reason to believe that the Galra are taking Balmeras hostage.” Hunk returns with a tray of ice water. He joins them and the conversation.

“Is she safe?” He asks nervously, his hand reaching for his wife’s.

Shiro frowns. “No,” he answers honestly. “The Galra have been taking Balmerans and brainwashing them, or killing them.” His knee is bumped painfully by his partner, but Shiro ignores it. He squares his shoulders and sits straighter. “You could be in danger.”

A bell jingles.

All four people in the shop snap their heads toward the door. Two men in deep mauve suits enter. The taller of the two had an unnaturally orange skin while the other had a lilac hue. Chairs scrape against the wood floors and three things happen in quick succession:

 

  1. Agent Z draws his gun
  2. Shiro activates his arm
  3. A laser blasts between the two of them, whizzing past Shay and Hunk to burn a hole in the pea wallpaper.



 

Shiro hears a scream as he lunges at the men. He jabs at the taller one with his arm glowing a hot white. His arm singes the suit but narrowly misses the man. The man punches Shiro in the face, making his head to snap to the left and knocking him to the floor. Shiro grabs the man’s ankle as he advances forward and the bright white burns into the suit and the man’s flesh. The man gurgles a visceral scream as he slams onto a table before falling down. Shiro releases the man’s ankle and scrambles to overpower him before he gets up. He has a hand to the man’s throat as Agent Z is tossed into the display case, glass shattering underneath the momentum and weight of a body.

Shiro snaps his head to the noise and he sucks in a breath as the purple alien grabs Agent Z by the shirt, a gun pointed directly at his face.

Something inside Shiro burns and it manifests as pain in his right arm. He feels blood pool in his mouth as his right arm shakes with a sudden pressure. He hisses as it morphs into something he recognizes: His hand is bent backward and in the palm opens a hole. His arm  _whirrs_  and  _buzzes_  into a small canon. Sweat causing Shiro to close his left eye as he takes aim at the alien, shooting him with a thick, light blue laser as the man beneath him crumbles to dust. The shop is silent save for beating hearts and baited breaths as the man who had his partner in his hands fall backward. Agent Z wobbles on his feet and Shiro covers the distance between them in strides to catch Agent Z from falling.

“Are you alright?” He asks as his arm shifts back to its original form. Agent Z, dazed, blinks up to him, movements obvious due to long lashes behind black sunglasses. Agent Z shoves Shiro away and straightens up.

“Call the office.” He croaks as he stalks to where Shay and Hunk are cowering, Hunk holding his wife closely, protecting her and their unborn child. 

Shiro can hear Agent Z ask them questions as he phones the office, telling Agent A what happened in details that come back crisp despite Shiro’s daze that caused him to move.

Agent A and a cleanup crew arrived within minutes.

“Agent S,” she greets tersely, passing him to join Keith in questioning the couple. Shiro overseas the cleanup, answering questions when he could and describing to Dr. Smythe what the men looked like. He mumbled something incomprehensible to Shiro’s ears as he strokes his mustache.

“Shades on,” Agent A barks, loudly and annoyed. There’s a clatter as everyone in the room puts on their sunglasses. Shiro slips his on and watches as Agent Z neuralyzes Hunk and Shay. After the bright light disappears, Agent A ushers them into the kitchen as Agent Z approaches Shiro. 

“What did the med team say?” 

Shiro thinks. “Aside from failing to capture them alive, the one that almost killed you was Galra.”

“I know that,” Keith snaps irritably. Shiro bristles.

Shiro clears his throat to keep his temper down. “The other was called a Khaathi, known to secrete poisonous fluids and self-destruct if needed. They’re a prideful race of aliens who would rather commit suicide than be captured.” Agent Z huffs and removes his glasses, eyes closed as he rubs them, and still closed when he puts them back on.

“Agent S, Agent Z, when the samples come back, you will be notified.” A small medic says, her voice muffled by her hazmat suit. Her glasses are visible and her hair is puffed around her face in the helmet.

“Thank you, Agent H.” Agent Z says. He turns and leaves and Shiro scampers after him.

“We’re heading back to headquarters,” he tells Shiro before he slams the car door.

They make it back to headquarters in record time. The rest of their day is typing up their reports and findings, as well as patiently waiting for Agent H to get back to them. 

They end the day with a reprimand from Agent A.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s weeks before Agent H sends them an email.

 

**From: Agent H**

**To: Agent Z, Agent S**

**CC: Agent A**

**Subject Line: Rockin’ Rolls Rockin’ Results**

 

**Agents,**

**I have attached the scientific research sheet to this email. The results have come back inconclusive for the Khaathi while tapping into the Galra’s memories gave us a few coordinates of hideouts, plates of cars, and an old hospital twenty minutes outside of New York.**

**The PDF includes the dissection video. Agent S, I suggest you watch on an empty stomach.**

 

Shiro glances at Keith from above his computer screen, but he’s preoccupied in either reading the email, the document, or playing Solitaire. Shiro sighs and opens the PDF and is immediately overwhelmed by charts and small text. At the end is the video, and Shiro watches it but throws up anyway upon opening it. He coughs the rest of the bile into the trash can by his desk.

It’s a video of people in white hazmat suits prodding at the Galra’s brain with a metal pen, sinking it in between brain folds and producing pus, blood, and a vibrant purple secretion. Shiro closes the document as he wipes his mouth.

A hand on his shoulder startles him. 

“Let’s go,” Agent Z says. Shiro nods weakly and gets up, powering off his monitor and following Agent Z with his tail between his legs.

They drive to the other side of the city, busy streets and tall buildings giving way to stretches of green grass and scattered homes.

“Where are we going?” Shiro asks as he spots a cow eating grass behind a wire fence.

“We’re investigating one of the locations in the Galra’s memory.”

“Oh.”

An awkward silence follows that, and Shiro loses steam to start any type of conversation. The last few weeks were mostly occupied by desk duty. Shiro and Agent Z would play a game of catch with a crumpled paper, other days were spent patrolling New York with gas station drinks and packages of sweetcakes. He learned that his partner had a penchant to drink orange soda like water and exclusively eat food given to him by the Korean food trucks or paid for by Shiro (“I owe you one —“ “Don’t worry about it.”) 

They spar when they have time, Shiro learning that Agent Z has agility where he himself has strength. Most of the time they ended in a draw, and when they didn’t, Agent Z would get the upper hand by jabbing Shiro with an elbow and tripping him to the mat. Agent Z’s wins were punctuated by a toothy grin that made Shiro’s heart soar. 

He thought they were finally toeing the line of friendship, but now that the results were in Agent Z seemed to be closed off again. His mood was somber from his usual mix of anger and neutral temperament.

The location ended up being a quaint robin blue ranch house a mile off of the main road. It seemed run down, with its cracked windows, broken sidewalk, overgrown porch, and weathered roof. The grass around the property was taken over by wildflowers and weeds. Shiro could see pollen collect on their pant legs as they made their way toward the front door.

Agent Z knocked and waited. And waited. And waited. He knocked again and huffed irritably when no one answered. Agent Z went to shrug off his jacket but Shiro put his hand on his shoulder.

“Let me try.”

Agent Z stepped off the cracked porch. Shiro focused, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as his hand glowed the, now familiar, white-hot light. Shiro cut an inch away from the doorknob, causing it to fall forward and clatter on the porch with a metallic thud.

“Nice.” 

Shiro blushed at the compliment and slowly pushed the door open, the hinges creaking causing their hair to stand on end.

Inside, dust floated listlessly. The living area held splintered furniture and broken paintings. A fireplace held the ashes of an old hearth. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The two split up to search the house, and each room, bathroom, and closet held nothing out of the ordinary. They reconvened in the living room.

“This was a dead end. Even in death, the Galra find a way to be fucking annoying.”

Shiro barked out a laugh. Agent Z sat on the couch with a hard  _thunk_.

_Thunk?_

Agent Z leaped off the moth-eaten couch and scrambled back, bumping Shiro in the process. Agent Z looked up at Shiro, and beneath the sunglasses, Shiro could see bright purple eyes.

_He’s beautiful._

Agent Z blushes and awkwardly coughs. Shiro digs his own grave as Keith walks up to the couch, bending over to lift the couch cushions off.

Did he say that out loud?

_I’m dead. I’m so dead._

“Agent S, come look at this.”

Shiro wipes a hand over his face before he approaches the couch. Agent Z moved the cushions to the floor to reveal a basement door. Agent Z hovered his arm the door and rolled up his sleeve. He clicked a button on his watch and a blue light zipped across the length of the door. His watched beeped again before the light disappeared.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything attached to it.” He states. “We can open it.”

Shiro does the honors, grunting as he lifts the thick metal door with his prosthetic. It falls off the couch and splinters the wood. Shiro uses his prosthetic as a light and walks down the steep stairs first.

In his immediate vision, Shiro could make out outlines of shelves and tables in the basement but nothing more.

“Cut the light.”

Shiro watches as the outline of Agent Z raises an arm and a bright light flashes into the room, bouncing off cement walls before finding the lightbulb overhead. Shiro gawks.

The room is lined with weapons that they saw in Kolivan’s and Agent A’s files, along with ones they haven’t seen. Shiro and Agent Z click to record at the same time, looking at every single gun with their sunglasses and bending down to open cabinets and drawers. Shiro opens a closet door with a single slit in it to reveal an empty space where a water heater should have been.

“I think we struck gold, Agent Z,” Shiro says, turning around to address his partner.

“We sure struck something,” he replies. “We need to alert —“

Heavy footsteps echoed down into the basement. There was a loud, angry roar that shook the house. Agent Z and Shiro looked at each other, panicked. Keith raised his arm again, clicking something on his watch to get the light. Shiro grabbed Agent Z's arm as heavy voices and footsteps stormed down the stairs. He pulled them into the water heater space, shutting the door as something crashed upstairs.

Shiro could feel Agent Z’s heart beat against his chest. His thick black hair tickled Shiro’s neck as the house went quiet. They held their breath. Shiro could hear his pulse as Agent Z curled his fingers into Shiro’s shirt. Through the slit, they could see the light click on. The stream cut through the door and highlighted Agent Z’s glasses. Agent Z swallowed as the people outside talked in low rumbles. He carefully repositioned his head to face the back, his black hair covering his pale neck and the white of Shiro’s button up. Through the slit, Shiro could make out civilian clothes and thick, muscular arms. The people’s skin was purple.

 _The Galra._  

Shiro watched as they walked around the room, talking in Galran. Shiro allowed himself a slow, steady inhale and exhale as the two Galra’s huddled over the table across the room. Shiro could make out the word  _Balmera_  and  _Men in Black._

He watched as another Galra came downstairs, his bulk taking up the small window of the slit. Shiro could see a purple gun pulsing a violent red on their hips. Their voice was deep and sickening, sending a cold chill down Shiro’s spine as they spoke Galran. Shiro felt Agent Z stop breathing.

Shiro instinctively wrapped his arms around Agent Z, pulling him closer and using the bulk of his body to shield him from the door. He didn’t know what the Galrans said, but he’s never seen his partner so shaken up — not even with their run-in with Kolivan on Shiro’s first day.

The bulky Galra walked toward their hiding spot, leaning against the door. Shiro imagined the alien would have been crossing his arms and glaring at the other two from his tone of voice. Shiro felt Keith shift slowly, softly. There was a soft, audible  _click._

The body against the door twitched.

Shiro pushed Keith behind him as the body moved away from the door, his arm whirring and glowing a vibrant white light. HIs partner thumped his hand against his back but Shiro ignored him as the door opened.

Shiro lunged first, attacked the alien by slicing down its chest, making them stagger back into the room. The light clicked off as the other two leaped for weapons.

Shiro’s arm glowed brightly as he was grabbed, a thick handing squeezing around his neck and making him gasp. He could hear the grunts of the other two and thuds.

_Agent Z._

Shiro’s vision blurred as he burned the alien holding him. He could feel the alien’s muscle staring against the pain. Suddenly, the alien lifted Shiro and thrashed him into the cement wall, stunning him for a precious five seconds.

The echo of a gunshot bounced around the room and Shiro felt a searing pain in his side. He gasped as he slunk to the floor before howling in pain. There was a rush of loud voices and a mixture of languages he didn’t recognize. There was a crunching of bone and the light clicked on.

For a brief second, Shiro saw the horror that unfolded in the dark. The bulky alien’s foot crunched Agent Z’s arm and there was a sickening angle to it. His partner’s face was hidden behind long black hair but the blood pooling beside his head caused a wave of muted panic to roll through Shiro.

“Men in Black,” they alien sneered down at Agent Z, “And the little halfling we’ve been looking for.”

Shiro’s vision cut as he knocked out, a single question echoing in his head:

_Halfling?_

 

* * *

 

 Pain echoed in Shiro’s body as he slowly woke up. At first, he couldn’t see anything. After a few minutes, his eyes adjusted. 

He was inside a cell similar in color to Kolivan’s basement room. Shiro was propped up on one side of the wall, hands, and feet tied with a cool metallic rope. From what he could see, there was nothing notable about it. Four cold metal walls. A dip in what was outlined as a door.

Shiro’s head swirled with dizziness as his body ached from the fight. He tried to activate his arm one to find it unresponsive when he looked, there was a gunmetal clamp around it. Shiro tried again and again to no avail. He sighed, hanging his head back and meeting the wall with a metallic  _thump._

As if on cue, the door opened with a heavy creak.

Shiro watched as two Galrans walked in, armored up and guns pointed downward. The one of the left came forward. He seized Shiro’s left arm and forced him onto unsteady feet. Shiro struggled against the hold but was quickly met with the cold barrel of a gun.

“Make this any harder and you will never see the light of day,” the alien hissed, his voice shattering in Shiro’s ear. Shiro hissed and flinched but let himself be dragged away.

He was dragged down long hallways that looked like his cell. As he passed in the corridors, loud banging and muffled shrieks could be heard.  _A prison block._

The two Galrans lead him deeper and away from the prison block until they reached a fork in the hallway. The aliens lead him down to the left and to a large door. He could hear screaming behind it, low and guttural. Shiro tensed as the door whooped open.

A large Galran stood over a hunched figure.

Recognition bloomed.

“Agent Z!”

The large Galran lazily shifted his gaze from his partner to him. His right eye was replaced with a seeing-glass, embedded into his face. He towered over Agent Z and was well above Shiro’s own height. His left arm was a hulking mass of metal held together by what looked like a magnetic force, its color the same red of his armor and pulse a violent magenta color. He snarled a vicious smile toward Shiro.

“Nice of you to join us, Agent S.” It said, voice thundering in the metal room. Shiro’s ears began to ring as it talked. “It’s interesting that you can hear the patterns of our speech. Have you noticed it in his voice too?” Shiro rolled his head on his shoulders, a sick feeling beginning to crawl over his body.

The alien circled his partner, but any attempts to get closer cause a barrel of a gun to dig into Shiro’s back. The alien placed a hand on Agent Z’s head, fingers threading into his thick hair and yanking his head back. Agent Z grunted and his face was in full view: his glasses were nowhere to be found. A black eye was beginning to form, its bruise cradling the vibrant purple eye of his partner. His nose had bleed and fresh blood dripped from a split lip. Concern and anger colored Shiro’s expression.

The alien laughed. “You humans wear your feelings on your face. Even this one,” they shook Keith back and forth, causing him to shift from his sitting position to all fours, “Who abandoned his kind to work against the Galra Empire with some pitiful organization.”

_Abandoned?_

Shiro couldn’t see his partner’s face but his whole body shook. The alien didn’t loosen its grip on Agent Z’s hair as they spoke to him.

“It was fortunate that you were in that house. The cache you have discovered has since been cleared and the house destroyed.” Shiro narrowed his eyes, anger pulsing. “Those guns were standard for the Galra army. Slowly, we’re going to take over Earth. And with the help of the Balmarans, we finally have the power to do so.”

“No,” a raspy voice grunted out. Shiro looked away as the alien slammed his partner to the ground. A choked sob cause Shiro to look again. The alien was now walking toward Shiro.

“Haxus, release him.”

The tight grip on Shiro’s arm loosened, but the barrel of the gun never left his back. Shiro sprinted forward, forcing himself not to attack the alien that hurt Agent Z. The clamp disabled his arm and only weapon. Haxus had a gun, and the large alien had an arm Shiro didn’t want to see in action. He ran passed the alien and skidded over to his partner who lied motionless on the cold metal floor.

Shiro gently pushed matted hair away from his partner’s face. Purple eyes were hidden by pale eyelids. His face was contorted with pain. Shiro pressed two fingers to Agent Z’s neck, feeling the steady pulse. Shiro sighed in relief.

“Agent Z?” Shiro watched as eyes moved behind eyelids. Agent Z opened his eyes, a haze over them. Agent Z’s gazed flickered up to Shiro.

“Shiro?” he whispered, his speech a low buzz. Shiro felt the sting of unshed tears as he nodded.

“Yeah,” he answered, petting more hair away from his partner’s face. “It’s me. You’re going to be okay.” He said it, and believed it — he just didn’t know for how long that phrase would hold up. Shiro didn’t know where he was; if he was in space or still on earth. He hoped for the latter.

Agent Z began to push himself up and Shiro reached to help him into a sitting position. Agent Z clutched his head and winced.

“Shoot him.”

Shiro whipped his head around to find Haxus and the large alien watching them. Haxus sent the blast toward his partner.

Shock froze Shiro in place as the blast his Agent Z square in the chest. The force sent Agent Z across the room. Shiro braced himself for his own blast, but instead —

“Kill Agent S, Keith.”

 _Keith?_   Shiro whipped around to where Agent Z laid, body unmoving yet again. Shiro heard the door shut behind him as Agent Z pushed himself up on his elbows.

Keith’s appearance began to change. The white of his eyes slowly shifted into a dull yellow, and the canines of his teeth grew longer, sharper, along with his nails. Purple splotches began to grow rapidly against pale white skin.

“Agent Z?”

He snarled at Shiro. Shiro watched as Agent Z got up and charged toward him.

Shiro dodged by leaping to the side, rolling on the floor and feeling the clamp dig into his side. He scrambled to his feet and leaned back as Keith threw a punch at him. Before Keith could recover, Shiro swiped his leg to trip him, the momentum of the followthrough causing Keith to fall forward onto his face.

Shiro struggled to take the clamp off, sweat beginning to form at the edge of his hairline as he continued to evade Keith’s attacks. After a few more side steps, the clamp finally gave and clattered to the floor.

Keith landed a kick as Shiro’s arm whirred to life. The kick activated Shiro’s location to be tracked, the small, blue light beeping mutely on his arm.

A hot heat bloomed on Shiro’s nose along with the taste of blood. White spots danced in his vision as Shiro swung in front of him, the white of his arm landing a hit on Keith's shoulder.

The ground beneath Shiro rumbled and somewhere outside was an explosion.

“Agent Z, talk to me!” Shiro shouted. He finally caught a punch and strained to hold it. “What’s happening?” In lieu of an answer, Agent Z glared and bared his fangs. Shiro swilled the fear as it came out. He caught Agent Z’s left hook. He wouldn’t relent.

An idea came to Shiro.

He sucked in his breath and headbutted Keith.

Shiro felt his brain rattle in his skull, the pain instantly coursing through him like floodwaters. Agent Z stumbled back. Shiro leaped at him, tackling him to the ground.

Agent Z scratched and hissed, sharp nails shredding his crumbled suit jacket. Shiro placed his prosthetic hand on Agent Z’s neck as a warning. The fight stopped and the room echoed their panting,

“I fight in the name of the Galra,” he rasped. Shiro gritted his teeth.

“No. You don’t.” Shiro said. “Snap out of it, Keith.”  When he tried to struggle again, Shiro dug metal fingers into his neck. The force would form bruises, but Shiro could deal with that later. “I’m your partner, remember?" Shiro brushed Keith's hair from his face, galra eyes looking straight at him. "Keith, it's me, Shiro.”

Keith's anger shifted into confusion, the yellow in his eyes draining.

“Shiro?”

Shiro didn’t loosen his grip but smiled in relief. “Yes. Remember? We’re not supposed to give our names out but I did.”

The door swished open behind them, and Agent Z’s focused shifted and the yellow returned.

 _No, no, no, no, no!_   _Damn it!_

Shiro heard the unmistakable boot up of a gun.

“Move, Shiro.”

Agent A stood at the entrance with an armed team, their guns pointing directly at Shiro and Agent Z.

“Agent A—”

“I will not repeat myself.” She said coldly.

“He’s not himself, he’s—“

Allura fired a warning shot that zipped past Shiro’s right ear.

Shiro begrudgingly released his grip on Agent Z and stepped away from him. Instantly, the Men in Black swarmed him pushing Shiro further away. An agent tied Agent Z’s hands together while another secured a collar to his neck.

“Hey!” Shiro shouted, stepping toward them. “What are you doing?!” Agent Z lashed out at the agent who held his right arm. Shiro watched as the collar flashed a blue and his body convulsed. Agent Z went limped in the other agent’s hold.

A hand touched Shiro’s shoulder. “Follow me, Agent S.” Agent A said. Shiro watched as his partner was dragged away. Soon after, Agent A followed them. Shiro didn’t move until Agent A waited for him at the door.

He left the facility with his hands clenched.

 

* * *

 

“Good work, Agent S.”

Shiro didn’t respond. He stood with his feet apart and hands tucked behind his back in parade rest. Instead of looking at Agent A, he looked above her at a thin, stray hair that stuck out from her bun. She sighed.

“We found the facility thanks to you and Agent Z and apprehended their leader, Sendak. With Agent H, Dr. Olshtgi, and Dr. Smythe, we will be able to find their caches and their buyers. You were a stepping stone for the Men in Black.”

“If I was a stepping stone, what does that make Keith?”

Agent A’s expression didn’t change. “A workplace casualty.”

“You knew he was Galra.”

Silence.

“You knew he betrayed the Empire. If he worked for the Men in Black, it would bring the Apologists to you. He is a wanted criminal in the eyes of the Empire. For who he is.” He seethed the last part -- the preduice dripping from his lips in anger. It was stupid. 

Her expression remained neutral. “And how did you come to this conclusion?”

“Kolivan.”

After Agent Z’s threat to be neuralyzed, he drove to Kolivan’s in a company car. He didn’t want his partner to forget… anything. Everything. Keith had been with the Men in Black for years according to Kolivan’s records, and he has done an extensional job until the disappearance of an Agent K and Agent J — two people whose genes were eerily similar to Keith’s. If his hunch were true, Agent K was Galra and Keith’s mother. Agent J was his father. At the garage, Kolivan, Ulaz, and Thace told Keith’s story, now that it will be forgotten by the man himself: He’s been searching for his parents or their bodies. He constantly took the more difficult missions and went alone to Galra ship wrecks, and illegal alien ring, and more. The day Shiro joined, Keith had finally found a lead: a man named Sendak, who by the grace of God was the man that shot him on the Galra ship.

Allura disclosed what they found to Keith: his parents were dead. They followed the same mission he and Shiro did except where they failed, Shiro and Keith were able to locate the ship and tell headquarters. Then they neuralyzed him. Shiro wasn’t there to see it.

“I see,” she said steadily. “The effects of the gun would not have worn off. The aliens that were affected had to be neutralized and replaced with their families. 

Keith had to lose his whole memory for the effects to leave him. We don’t understand why yet, but he’s no longer a danger to us.”

Shiro dug his dull nails into the meat of his palm. He said nothing.

“Is that all, Agent S?”

“Yes,” Shiro said, voice monotone. Agent A sighed and leaned back into her chair.

“I know you two had a friendship, but this is the best course of action for the organization. Should he had escape somehow and leak the information that he knows, all of humanity would be in danger.”

Shiro knew this. But he was still bitter.

“Dismissed, Agent S. I expect a full report by tomorrow.”

Shiro turned on his heel and returned to his desk. He let himself disassociate as he worked; technically typing the report and pressing backspace aggressively as his own bias fed the paper.

 

The desk across from him would remain empty for months.

 

* * *

 

The bell above the door chimed. Keith wiped the remains of his sandwich from his face and chugged the rest of his orange soda before returning to the counter. He smiled at who walked in. 

Shiro had his black sunglasses on, but the moment he got to the counter he placed them on his head. HIs normal black suit-and-tie combo was gone. In its place were dark wash jeans and a tight black v-neck. Dog tags hung from his neck and —

“Forget-me-nots?” Keith laughed as he came around the counter. Shiro took the few steps to meet Keith halfway in front of the pastry display.

“Just something so you don’t forget our first date together. And an apology for bailing on what was supposed to be our first date.”

Keith took the flowers from him with a soft smile. “Our date isn’t until tonight.” There was an assortment of colors in the forget-me-nots: pinks, yellows, and blues were mixed together in the bouquet.

“Thank you.” Keith tiptoed to kiss Shiro’s cheek, the taller man blushing faintly. “And I told you it was okay. Mr. Hot-Shot businessman.”

Shiro laughed, but Keith didn’t catch the nervousness in it.

“Yeah, yeah, ” Shiro said lightly. “So I’ll see you tonight?”

Keith punched Shiro’s shoulder, causing him to laugh. “Of course. I’ll see you later, Shiro.”

Shiro cupped Keith’s face and planted a wet kiss to his forehead. Keith snorted out a laugh as he swatted him away.

“Bye, baby.”


End file.
